


Southern California

by Not Applicable (not_applicable)



Series: é preciso perdoar [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bruce Banner smokes weed, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Infidelity, Interracial Relationship, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, Love, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, stayin' up late but I gotta get up early
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_applicable/pseuds/Not%20Applicable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wind was a bit too cool but they still had the top down.  Bruce insisted on it.</p><p>Sometimes it just <i>works</i>.  The story of Bruce Banner and James Rhodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Over at AvengerKink, someone posted [a prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16019.html?thread=35243667) asking for the love story of Rhodey and Bruce. How would these two get together? I decided to tell that story in the context of my current series, but you can read this as a standalone. 
> 
> I love rare pairings, and this one in particular. I know they're not popular, but I really enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> Special thanks to 51stcenturyfox for fielding my military questions :-)

Bruce Banner and James Rhodes met two days after the other guy restarted Tony's heart with a roar. Bruce heard someone punching in the lab's access code and suddenly a man in desert fatigues strode in as if he belonged there. Bruce swallowed as Col. Rhodes's head swung side to side, eyes hard and obviously searching for Tony, but when they fell on Bruce they opened, softened.

“Are you Dr. Banner?” Col. Rhodes asked, approaching him, and Bruce cleared his throat, pulling himself up straight as he stood. The colonel extended a hand and Bruce shook it readily, unable to stop himself from looking the military man up and down.

“Yes – call me Bruce, please,” he said, and Col. Rhodes nodded. “You're Rhodey, huh?”

“Yeah. Jim – but Rhodey's fine.”

They both smiled and let go of their hands, then Jim looked around again. “So where is he? I've got a new asshole to tear for him.”

Bruce laughed – it had been a long time since he heard anyone use that expression – and he beckoned to Jim, walking him towards the elevator.

 

Bruce didn't stick around for the asshole-tearing. Even though Jim hugged Tony tight the second he saw him, Bruce could hear him yelling even as he rode the elevator back down to the lab.

 

“Seriously, Tony – you could have _died_ -”

“Come _on_!” Tony said, gesticulating wildly with a beer. “I didn't, okay? Honeybun, _please_ – I said I'm sorry.” The entire table laughed at that, Steve even having to cover his face at the use of such an endearment. Tony elbowed the supersoldier playfully before turning back to Jim, who was giggling into his Kronenberg. “Thanks to the team I'm alive, I'm here now, and I just spent five hundred dollars on beer for seven people.” They laughed again as wind whipped around the ferns on the rooftop patio, Manhattan humming quietly beneath them. “Come on, drink up. Let's celebrate.”

Jim turned to Bruce, who was beside him and staring into his caipirinha more so than drinking it. “To you, big guy,” Jim said, and Bruce's head flicked up quickly, his eyes blinking for a moment before he regained his composure. “You caught him, right? I mean, the _big guy_ caught him.” Bruce knew everyone was looking at him and he had to be blushing fiercely, he could feel it.

“Yeah,” Tony spoke up, leaning over and clinking his drink against Bruce's. “Woke me up, too, with a 140 decibel roar.” Tony groaned, but Bruce could see the fondness in his smile. “That's enough to restart _anyone's_ heart.”

“You're welcome,” Bruce said, and both Jim and Tony chuckled warmly at such a simple joke.

“Thank you,” Tony said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jim added, and he tapped the neck of his beer to Bruce's drink.

 

Bruce watched from the patio table as Jim tried to drag his friend inside. Jim had Tony practically thrown over his shoulders, and though he was in great shape, he couldn't really haul the dead weight of a drunk zillionaire more than a few dozen meters before it just started to piss him off. He looked happy when Steve approached, his all-American muscles literally struggling to escape from his shirt as he carefully took Tony from Jim, promising to put him to bed safe and sound.

“Bruce,” Steve called, “wanna show the Colonel to the guest rooms?”

Bruce was self conscious of the wrinkles in his too-big pants as Jim walked behind him, down a short hall on the communal floor to the guest rooms. He led him to the door of the largest room, and Bruce was surprised when he found it hard to meet those wide eyes. But he did, and he saw Jim break into that ridiculously easy smile of his, the one that Tony could often pull out of him without even trying.

“Thanks,” Jim said. “You know, I'm not sure what I was expecting out of you, but...you're not it.”

Bruce wasn't sure what to make of that, but then it dawned on him that Jim must have meant it as a compliment. “I'd probably say the same for you.”

“Good,” he replied, his smile flashing in a way that made Bruce feel like dying. “I guess I'll see you in the morning, huh?”

Bruce was happy the hallway was dark. He coughed in an attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat. “Sure thing,” he said.

 

*

 

The next time Bruce saw Jim, he was once again standing bewildered in Bruce's lab unannounced.

“That fucker.” Jim just grinned, shaking his head at Bruce. “He's in Malibu, isn't he?”

 

Jim's return flight wasn't for another three days so they just set him up on the communal floor and all took turns practically falling in love with James Rhodes. He was an MIT graduate, an engineer, a pilot, and a decades-long military man, which made him a remarkably cultured and talkative person, as opposed to someone stiff and ever-formal like Bruce had always presumed of military types. Jim was happy to go the park or to Coney Island with them, to practice archery or just go have pizza with Steve and Bruce. Jim got two jumbo slices with jalapenos and extra cheese, then covered them in crushed red pepper. Bruce, who loved Indian food in all it's spicy glory, couldn't even hang with _that_ , and he shook his head with mock disapproval as Jim chowed down with a grin on his face. Steve took pictures on his cell phone the entire time and sent them all to Tony.

Suddenly Jim's phone rang and he just laughed at the caller ID, then picked up, still laughing into the receiver. “Hey, hey, relax...what – _Tony_ , you were supposed to be _here_ , okay...I can't help that your friends wanna hang out with me...Bruce and Steve...okay, okay...when?” Jim stood, his gaze bewildered as Steve and Bruce followed it to the door. “ _Tony_.”

Happy Hogan was standing there, keys in hand.

 

Bruce and Jim took the jet to Malibu, leaving Steve behind. They invited him but he insisted on staying back, never really giving a reason, but they wouldn't press him. The trip was kind of long but comfortable – they watched movies and ate with Happy, talked about Tony and the Avengers but mostly about MIT and southeast Asia, international food and music that they both liked. They both had soft spots for Ethiopian food and yacht rock, it turned out.

“Okay then,” Jim said as he wiped the last of his dinner from his hands. “We'll have to do Steve Winwood and anchotte one of these days.”

Bruce smiled, and he held it for what might have been a little too long. “Sure thing.”

 

*

 

They got to Malibu at three in the morning to find Tony wrestling with a new suit, half of it magnetized onto his skin and the rest of it flying all around the workshop. They all passed out in their respective rooms after prying Tony out of the armor, sleep pressing hard on Bruce's eyelids.

 

The next morning Bruce had breakfast with Jim and Pepper, Tony still crashing from the night before, and after Pepper left for work Jim took him for a drive on the Pacific Coast Highway in one of Tony's slick European sports cars. Bruce hadn't been in a convertible in years, hadn't enjoyed the sun on his skin like this in a long time. He had always been in the sun, out in the elements in some run-down village, falling asleep with roaches crawling on him, but this was different. Now he was living in Stark Tower, taking private jets to Malibu and getting a tan from riding around in a million-dollar car with America's most eligible flyboy. He was never a particularly materialistic person, but... ( _could be worse._ )

They rode for over an hour on the PCH, turning around at Oxnard and then passing Malibu and heading all the way into Playa Del Rey. They stopped for fish tacos and parked the car at the beach, eating and laughing and staring out over the water as they dropped cole slaw and jalapenos onto the interior of Tony's car. Jim's phone buzzed, and then so did Bruce's. They both ignored it for a while, just listening to the seagulls circling above them.

“You know, I've actually never had an extended stay in southern California,” Bruce said around a mouthful of tilapia. “It's alright.”

 

“Tony, stop telling people that story -”

“No, really, it's okay, Rhodey. We've all made that mistake.”

Bruce just chuckled and looked between the two of them. Spring Break was made for mistakes, wasn't it? Couldn't blame Jim.

“In the end it all worked though, didn’t it?”

“ _Tony._ ”

 

Tony proved to be flakier than usual as of late, so Bruce and Jim traded numbers. Bruce didn't know anyone besides Pepper, Tony, and Jim in this state, anyway. They would often meet for lunch or coffee, but one night they went to a bar Jim liked, a dark and quiet place whose clientele seemed to be mostly regulars. They talked about the night Jim “stole” the War Machine armor and got in his first fistfight with Tony in twenty years. Jim talked about flying the suit like it had come naturally to him, and Bruce was sure it had. Bruce talked about his post-doctoral work, his old girlfriend and her asshole father, but in the end he didn't spend too much time on those subjects. He mostly talked about his travels, going to the ignored parts of the world and thriving in them all alone.

“Do you like being alone?” Jim asked him.

“No, not really.”

 

They had left the bar and were standing at the top of Tony's stairs now. Bruce kept looking down at his watch, too nervous to do much else. It said the same thing every time – 2:21 am. He looked up at Jim's face, then sighed and looked at his watch again. 2:22 am. ( _Make a wish, Bruce._ )

“I'm crashing here tonight,” Jim said. “Too late to be tryin' to drive all the way across the canyons.” He reached out and gave Bruce's arm a warm rub, letting his hand slide over Bruce's elbow and down his arm and along his hand before it once again hung loosely at his side. “Goodnight, Bruce.”

“'Night, Jim.”

Bruce fell asleep with his hand still thrumming from Jim's touch, all the way to his bones.

 

*

 

Thor turned the invitation over in his hands a few times, seemingly confused by its very existence.

“Why would you waste a resource in this way?” Thor asked, genuinely curious. “We live with you – you might have just come and told us personally of this event. I sleep but three floors below you.”

Bruce smiled into his coffee, careful not to let Tony see.

“You know how Midgardian culture is,” Tony said, “we're all about waste. My tailor's coming tomorrow so he can fit everyone for tuxes, okay?”

“I'm not wearing a tux,” Bruce said.

 

Bruce consented to a tailor-made suit, simple in style yet expensive in cut and cloth, and he found himself with an elbow on the bar and an ignored whiskey in his hand as he stared at the crowd in Stark Tower's private ballroom. He wasn't sure what this event was for or why the team had to be present, but hey, he got a free suit out of it, and when he looked up he saw something that he hoped would make his night even better.

Jim was in full mess dress in front of him, a bowtie setting off his thousand-watt smile. Bruce extended a hand and they shook without a greeting, just smiling at each other, and Jim approached the bar and asked for scotch and soda. Jim didn't try to hide the way he was looking at Bruce's suit as the bartender made his drink.

“Sharp,” he said. “Tony's tailor, right?” Bruce nodded. “Yeah, he's got a thing for shawl lapels, pocket squares...” Jim reached out and flicked at Bruce's collar before neatening his pocket square a bit, and Bruce cursed inwardly at himself for the way he let out a stilted breath and looked down ( _like a fucking schoolgirl_ ).

“You look good,” Jim said, his voice smooth and confident as he took his drink from the bartender with a smile that was starting to torture Bruce.

“Thanks, so do you,” Bruce responded dryly, and he took a sip of his drink as Jim nodded in thanks. “I didn't know that military formal dress was...like a butler or something.”

Bruce couldn't help laughing at that and so did Jim, who let his free hand rest on Bruce's arm while a warm chuckle shook him. The sound rolled across Bruce like wind or water, and he could feel the heat of Jim's skin.

“Rhodey, buddy!” he heard, and Bruce was surprised to realize that he was happy for Tony's interruption. He didn't mind standing there while the two of them caught up with each other, jabbing at each other about clothes and work and armor and the failure of something called “The Ex-Wife,” because it gave Bruce a moment to breathe clean air, to collect his head and get the scent of his best friend's best friend out of his nose.

And then Tony was gone and Steve was approaching, and before Bruce could even say hello he was being pulled by his elbow by Jim, right into his side, and a rock formed in his stomach when he saw the photographer. Bruce tried to will the heat away from his face when he felt Jim's hand on the small of his back, just resting there lightly, and he was startled by the camera flash. Jim gave him a small smile before turning to Steve, who said only a few words before leaving as quickly as he came.

“Cap's in a mood,” Jim said casually, and then he pulled at the collar of his shirt. “How much longer is this supposed to last – another hour, two? Come on.” Jim took Bruce by the elbow again, his grip always gentle, and began leading him through the crowd.

 

The rooftop patio was empty, inaccessible from the ballroom. They both walked out silently, Bruce just looking around as Jim removed his jacket and cummerbund, then his bowtie, laying them all carefully across the back of a chair. He was undoing his top buttons when he approached Bruce, who was leaning back against the glass wall of the sun room and staring up into the black sky.

“No stars to be seen in New York,” Jim said. He leaned against the wall beside Bruce and stared into the sky, too, their arms pressed flushed together as they both looked at nothing.

“You don't like big crowds,” Jim said, definitely more of a statement than a question.

“Too many variables,” Bruce responded. “Too many opportunities for something to go wrong, people to get hurt.”

“Tony wouldn't have invited you if he didn't trust you,” Jim said. “I mean he wouldn't have even had a banquet here if he didn't, believe me.” Bruce just nodded, and he finally looked at Jim when he heard him suck his teeth flippantly. “You gotta let go of that shit, man. I'm pretty sure Tony wants to adopt you, so you should just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Bruce laughed into his hand, but then he dropped it. “You're right,” he said. “Lots of perks to being buddies with Tony Stark. Private jets, homemade particle colliders, cruises down the PCH...” Jim's smile lit up a bit, and Bruce let himself enjoy the warm feeling. Jim reached out and smoothed Bruce's lapel, his hands traveling along the fine fabric for much longer than was needed.

“I really do like this suit on you,” he said. Jim had turned towards Bruce and had one shoulder against the wall now, his other hand still on Bruce's lapel, so Bruce turned, too, facing his smiling eyes and lined grin. He brought his hand up and placed it on Jim's, let his thumb rub circles into the surprisingly soft skin of his palm. There were many directions they could go in from here but there was only one that Bruce wanted, and...how long had it been?

Jim's mouth gave quickly and easily against Bruce's, yielding the second their lips touched, the corners melting and lips parting and his tongue emerging, seeking and tasting along with Bruce's. Bruce hadn't kissed anyone in years, and he moaned into Jim's throat and pressed his hands against his chest before sliding them up and to the back of his neck, relishing a touch that he hadn't known for entirely too long. Jim smelled thick and sweet like pipe smoke and his taste matched that, enhanced by the brightness of the scotch he'd had earlier. Two big hands slid around Bruce's waist and pulled him closer, chest to chest with Jim, and the feeling of those hands traveling up and down his back, along his hips and resting at the curve of his back, made him want to sob into Jim's kiss.

 

*

 

Steve moved out. Like, literally stormed out with no warning and no goodbyes. Bruce just came home one day to find Steve gone, and when he texted him about it Steve didn't respond. Later that night Bruce had what could only be described as a truly uncomfortable moment with a drunk Tony, and then Tony apparently went and passed out in Steve's bed. Bruce texted Steve again and finally got a call back.

And...wow. Bruce had been in the dark for the most part. At the most he'd thought that Tony had a crush on Steve, but learning that they had been having an affair for the past month was enough to knock the wind out of Bruce. Steve explained his behavior at the banquet and his hasty move back to Brooklyn, said that he couldn't take having his failure rubbed in his face like that.

“You didn't fail at anything,” Bruce said. “Tony's a fucking handful and he navigates through life on autopilot, basically. You didn't do anything wrong, and I don't blame you for taking off.”

“Okay,” Steve said, his tone relieved. “The whole thing, it just makes me feel so stupid, you know? Like I never should have thought he'd do right by me anyway.”

“Don't count him out,” Bruce said, gently coming to Tony's defense. “Sounds like he was trying to protect you from the truth. I don't think he really wanted to hurt you.”

“Sure,” Steve said drolly. “I just...this is hard, you know? Dating. I don't...I can't wrap my head around it sometimes. I wish it were simpler. I wish things just fell into place more often.”

Bruce was suddenly reminded of that impromptu kiss on the rooftop, his nails scratching at Jim's short hair and the taste of his lips. Things falling into place. He laughed to himself and felt stupid, too.

“What's funny?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” Bruce said, and when Steve stayed silent he continued. “I'm not laughing at you, Steve, just...” ( _You hold several doctorates and you have a monster inside of you. You are not a teenage girl._ ) “You're just making me think of something, that's all.”

“Of what?”

( _You are NOT a teenage girl_.)

“You know Jim Rhodes?”

“Yeah, great guy.”

Bruce shook his head to himself. Point of no return. “You have to promise not to tell.”

 

*

 

Tony moved out. With lots of fanfare and pomp and circumstance, have no doubt. He threw a party that everyone in Manhattan came to – seriously, _all_ of the Broadway theaters reported significant losses on that day alone. Jim didn't come – he was at Edwards working on a re-imaging of the War Machine, and Bruce smiled when Jim texted him just two words: _having fun_?

He responded with _No, put on the suit and come get this drunk bastard._

Jim's response was quick. _Ha, I'm barely any help. Coming to CA tomorrow?_

Bruce's face heated up and he turned away from Tony, who was using a penlight to project images on the walls for his guests. _I can if you want me to._

 _I want you to_.

Bruce read it, then read it again, then read the first three words only, and then his mouth went dry.

 

*

 

Bruce used the pseudonym of David Bixby to gain entry to Edwards Air Force Base – Tony insisted that it wasn't necessary but _fuck that_ , Bruce thought to himself. Tony was in a three-piece suit and Bruce in his usual Oxford and khakis when Jim emerged from an aircraft hangar, his hands and shirt smudged with engine oil and dirt. Tony didn't hesitate to throw himself into Jim's dirty arms, saying nothing about mussing his suit as Jim's hands spread big and flat along the back of his jacket. Bruce averted his eyes but still hugged Jim warm and tight, and he finally looked into his eyes with a gentle pat of his shoulders once they let go.

They went back to Jim's room in the temporary quarters, a small and hotel-like space that he insisted was not indicative of the state of his actual home in Calabasas. Tony excused himself to the restroom and left them alone in the kitchen, and then Bruce dropped his blazer on a chair and Jim took off his hat, and they were on each other in a second, mouths locked together and Jim's hands smearing thin black smudges along Bruce's cheeks and his neck. Jim smelled like gun metal and grease and sweat, human as all get out and hot to the touch. Bruce nipped at Jim's lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, and a moan slipped out at the touch of Jim's hands, heavy on the curve of his ass.

“You're making a mess of me,” Bruce mumbled – not that he minded. Jim smiled guiltily against his mouth and just kissed him again, wrapping his arms around his waist. Eventually they disengaged and Jim used a washcloth to clean the oil off of Bruce's face. Nothing could be done for the spots on his pants and Jim apologized profusely, but Bruce insisted that it was okay, that he didn't mind at all.

“It's kinda like having your autograph,” Bruce explained, and Jim paused the washcloth on Bruce's neck to laugh out loud. Tony finally emerged from the bathroom, staring at his phone and looking surprisingly drunk, and Jim slowly lowered the washcloth away from Bruce's face.

“Donesies,” he mumbled, tapping away on his phone. “Oh – I was on a phone call, okay? I wasn't in there taking a shit or drinking from my flask or anything.”

 

*

 

When they got to Malibu the movers were already bringing Tony's stuff in – he'd left his penthouse essentially intact for future visits, but he seemed to be making a grand show of having the meat-and-potatoes of his existence moved across the country. The three of them met Pepper in L.A. for lunch, then went back to Malibu so they could help Tony unpack.

“I'd love to help,” Jim said, and Tony rolled his eyes at that, “but I gotta go back to my place, get cleaned up before dinner. Wanna join?” And then Bruce looked up because his gut told him that Jim was talking to him and not Tony, and he was right. “It's a nice drive through the canyons.”

“Yeah, Bruce, go joyride,” Tony said, his eyes focused on a folder of paperwork he seemed to have discovered in one of his boxes. “Grab one of the cars, we got this. We'll see you two at dinner, right?”

Bruce stopped with the box he was unpacking and stood, gathering his blazer. The smile on Jim's face sent a thrill through Bruce that he hadn't felt in ages.

“We're taking the Bugatti,” Jim said, and Tony didn't even acknowledge him. They walked away side-by-side, and Bruce wasn't thinking when he reached out and rested a hand on Jim's shoulder, letting it slide down to his waist. Behind him, he could hear Pepper chuckling.

“Those two,” she said, her voice full of mirth, but Tony said nothing.

 

Bruce was caught up in the rocky cliff walls slipping by them, the haze of dirt that trailed behind the car, the sky almost offensively blue up above them, the touch of the sun nearly burning him. So he wasn't thinking when he reached across the gear shift and rested a hand on top of Jim's, which was resting on his thigh. Jim glanced over to smile from behind his shades, and he shifted so that he was holding Bruce's hand, giving it a squeeze as they bent around corner after corner.

Back at Jim's house, they both sat at the edge of his pool with their pant legs rolled up, and Bruce lifted one leg out of the water to drape it over Jim's knee, turning his body toward him in the process. They took hands again and kissed softly, slowly, the sun pounding so viciously on them that it made it hard for either of them to open their eyes. But that was okay.

“Are we dating?” Bruce asked. ( _Better to define those kinds of things as soon as possible._ )

“Yes,” Jim replied, and Bruce simply nodded, and then they kissed again.

 

They went to Spago for dinner despite Pepper's protests – no, it wasn't as hip as Boa or Mr. Chow, but Tony was a die-hard Wolfgang Puck fan and absolutely loved their gnocchi, so there was no arguing with him. They ended up at the bar afterward because Tony wanted to drink, and he didn't even seem to notice that Bruce got in Jim's truck at the end of the night and not in the Audi with him and Pepper. Jim often mentioned how much he hated the long drive home through the mountains whenever he visited places on the coast, but tonight he wasn't complaining. He kissed Bruce at every intersection and red light, held his hand through the entire ride and pointed out celebrity homes as they made their way back to Calabasas.

They made out in Jim's foyer with Bruce leaned against the wall and Jim up against him, both of them liquor-scented but not drunk, hands shoving blazers and ties to the ground. By the time they made their way to the bedroom they were both shirtless, and Jim bounded back on his bed and let Bruce crawl up between his legs. Bruce reached out for Jim's belt and removed it without fanfare, whipping it onto the floor as he fell forward onto his elbows, his face poised right over Jim's crotch.

Jim reached out and touched Bruce's cheek, giving it a sweet caress, and Bruce turned to kiss his palm. They looked into each other's eyes, neither one of them shying away from the moment. Bruce had been opening Jim's pants as he nuzzled his hand, and there was barely a second between that touch and the next, when Bruce kissed Jim's erection almost fondly, letting his hot breath gust across even hotter skin. The past few months of flirting were all the teasing either of them needed so Bruce didn't hesitate to engulf Jim's cock quickly, giving the head a few slow sucks before sliding his mouth down the length of it. Jim arched up slightly and gave a creaking moan, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides as Bruce savored the rich musk and salt flavor of him, his mouth finding a pace that made Jim whisper Bruce's name.

He ghosted his teeth across the tip when he felt a hand on his head, heavy but not pressing, and he flicked his eyes up to meet Jim's, dark and hooded by thick lashes. “Christ, Bruce,” he whispered, and Bruce couldn't help grinning a bit when he took him in again. Jim bucked and Bruce placed a gentle hand on his stomach while the other wrapped around his cock, following the up-and-down motion of Bruce's mouth. Jim bucked again and Bruce moaned, feeling his cock throb and pulse on his tongue, leaking now, and Jim's other hand was on his head, too. “Bruce,” he said again, his voice shaky now, the muscles in his stomach tense and glistening lightly with sweat. Bruce tasted him running off in his mouth and he realized that Jim was trying to warn him, so he sat up, releasing Jim's cock and watching the man breathe on the bed, his hands reaching out for nothing and his breaths coming in giant bursts.

Bruce started removing his pants and Jim finally looked up, seeming to snap back to reality when he started pulling his off as well. They were both nude in a flash and lube seemed to appear from nowhere, but Bruce asked no questions, just coated two fingers and eyed Jim carefully. He got his permission when Jim spread his legs for him, letting Bruce lean forward and kiss him tenderly as he eased a hand beneath and prepared him, using one finger and then two, twisting and spreading them until Jim moved easily around him. He entered Jim's body as seamlessly as he'd taken him in his mouth before, removing his fingers and sliding the head of his cock inside carefully, slowly and smoothly. They locked gazes as Bruce found his rhythm, Jim's knees bumping his elbows as he thrust into him with more grace than he thought possible after so long.

Jim's lips were impossibly soft and still whiskey-sweet against Bruce's, and Bruce wished he could just crawl inside of Jim and be surrounded by the burning-hot satin flesh that enveloped him, squeezed him and made his head swim. “You feel incredible,” Bruce whimpered, and he let his head drop onto Jim's shoulder, mewling as hot hands slid up his back. “Fucking perfect.” Jim's lips on his neck made him tremble weakly, and he would have been embarrassed if not for the way Jim's body twisted and keened at each stroke of his hips, the way short nails struggled to press themselves into the flesh of his back.

Bruce slid an arm beneath Jim's back and went to move into a sitting position. Jim seemed to get the idea and he pressed a hand into the mattress, lifting up and resting his weight in Bruce's lap. Jim leaned forward and brought his face close to Bruce's, close enough to kiss him, and they both gasped at the sharp thrust of Bruce's hips – once, then twice, and now Bruce had Jim tight around the waist and was fucking him in earnest, the bed just starting to sing with their ministrations. Jim's arms were rigid around Bruce's neck and his lips were tight, his body tense with what Bruce hoped was want, need, any hunger or thirst that he could quench for him.

“ _Je_ sus,” Jim moaned into Bruce's mouth, and then Bruce reached between them, wrapping his hand around a throbbing erection that began to leak at his very touch. Bruce gave only two heartfelt tugs before Jim slumped forward - “ _Ah shit_ ,” he grunted, and the hot splash of Jim's orgasm dripping down his hand had Bruce cursing, too, his eyes rolling back and his arm tight around Jim's waist as he came hard inside of him.

They came down slowly in the same position, wrapped together and still sitting up on the bed for a few minutes as their breathing slowed and their heads cleared. Eventually Jim just tipped over to the side and let them fall onto the bed, the covers still made, and Bruce had to laugh. He let Jim roll over on top of him and lean forward, arms on his chest, to study his sweaty and blissed out face. Bruce knew he probably looked like he'd been rode hard and hung up wet ( _apropos_ ) but he wasn't ashamed. He was glad to be seen this way again, to know a moment like this. He was glad that Jim was the one.

“So we're dating,” Jim said.

Bruce's smile was wide and real. He fucking loved the sound of that.

“Yes, yes we are,” Bruce said, and though Jim's smile was small, whatever was behind it wasn't. “I think I'm really starting to like southern California.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce loved southern California. He'd take any season there over summer in New York. He went to visit Tony plenty over the summer, and he noticed his friend unraveling a bit, sleeping less and less and drinking more and more, building new sets of armor with capabilities that Bruce wouldn't have even thought of if he were an engineer. Pepper went from concerned to bewildered and maybe even a little annoyed when it came to coaching Tony through his panic attacks, but Bruce and Jim were better – they'd share the bed with him when Pepper was angry or out of town, hold him close and count to ten over and over again until his chest loosened and he could take a breath.

Sometimes Tony was okay. Sometimes Bruce's visits happened when he was ready to crash out and sleep for days, and he'd apologize for being so sparse but Bruce didn't mind, because he and Jim would take a shiny car into the canyons or up and down the California coastline, stop at beaches and eat burritos or even go for a swim if they weren't being spontaneous. He'd pose as a SHIELD scientist (which he sort of was, technically) and take tours of Edwards AFB, where Jim would sneak him into top-secret prototype aircraft just to kiss him from the pilot's seat. Bruce was the first civilian to see Iron Patriot and the armor's new paint job, and he and Jim agreed: “War Machine is better.” They would make love in Jim's crummy quarters in the middle of the day and eat sandwiches outside on benches, ignoring passersby while trying to determine when Tony would wake up.

 

*

 

The fall came and New York went gray and chilly, even forcing Steve to don a jacket by September, but California didn't cool off one bit. If anything the sting of the sunlight relented and the humidity lessened, but the days were still clear and bright and the ride on the PCH was as perfect as ever. Bruce took a commercial flight and landed at a small municipal airport in Lancaster, where Pepper waited to give him a ride to Edwards.

“I didn't tell Tony you were coming,” she said on the way. “Is that good or bad?”

Bruce grinned, reddening a bit. “Not sure,” Bruce said. “He doesn't notice much nowadays anyway, does he?”

Pepper just shook her head, exiting the freeway.

Jim met Bruce in the officer's parking lot and they kissed right there, DADT having never been a concern for them. The ride through the desert was beautiful, different from the coastline, the vegetation short and sparse with mountains always looming behind. They made it back to Calabasas and stayed inside for the rest of the day, curled around each other and watching movies in Jim's bed.

“Are we eatin' with the kids tonight?” Jim asked.

Bruce hesitated before meeting his eyes. “Tony doesn't know I'm here,” Bruce said. “I thought I might just spend this trip with you.”

Jim's thumb was stroking his jawline as he sunk lower into the bed, practically pulling Bruce into his lap. “I'm a lucky guy,” Jim said quietly, his eyes gazing into Bruce's chest. “I really am.”

 

*

 

“Seriously, don't laugh.”

Bruce was already smiling around a mouthful of figs, but he tried to nod in as comforting of a fashion as possible. Jim knocked his knuckles against the countertop, trying to hide his own grin with his other hand.

“Shut up, Bruce,” Jim said, and Bruce laughed a protest. “I know you didn't say anything, but still.” Jim sighed and shook his head. “I'm in my _forties_ , man. I just feel kinda silly calling you my boyfriend, that's all.”

“Well, what _are_ we?” Bruce asked as he picked up his plate and took it to the sink. “'Significant other' sounds like what Tony would call JARVIS or something, and 'partner'...” Bruce winced and so did Jim.

“Yeah, we don't have a dog and a Prius,” Jim muttered.

“And it's so clinical-sounding,” Bruce said, turning off the water. “I mean we know how we feel, and that's the most important part, but 'significant other,' 'partner' – we're not robots, and we're not opening a business together. I don't know – those are both cold ways to talk about someone you love.”

Bruce felt a rock form in his stomach and he froze. ( _Jesus fucking Christ._ ) Jim approached to dump the dregs of his breakfast down the disposal and Bruce glanced up, knowing that his expression was mortified. “I didn't mean -”

“Yes you did,” Jim said, his smile quick and easy as ever, and he leaned in to press warm kiss on Bruce's lips. “You're a great boyfriend.”

 

*

 

Winter in New York was always the worst. Cold, crowded, bitter. Bruce was only able to have one leisurely visit to southern California before the shit started to hit the fan, but it was great – he hadn't been hiking or camping in years, and Jim was great in the outdoors. They went hiking in Big Sur and Jim wasn't afraid of getting dirty or wet, and he knew the edible flora of the area so well that they didn't even have to bring much food with them. When he got back to New York, Jim called Bruce to tell him about Tony having a panic attack in the middle of a seafood restaurant and promptly scaring the shit out of the children that were asking for his autograph. Bruce made a trip just to see Tony – he still found time for Jim, as always, but that trip was about coaching Tony through horrible bouts of hyperventilation and convincing him not to drink himself to sleep.

Bruce was only back in New York for about two weeks before the Mandarin showed up in the news, killing people on national television and blaming Iron Man for all of it. Bruce went right back to southern California but neither Tony or Jim would tell him anything – for Jim it had everything to do with security clearance, but Tony just insisted that he had it all under control and that he didn't want anyone else to get hurt. Jim took Bruce to a demolition derby out in the desert, and they drank beer and watched cars crash together until they couldn't be driven anymore. It was cold outside so they sat close, bumping each other every time they cheered or clapped. Jim wanted to stay on the base that night but Bruce wanted to drive – it was a full moon and the desert was almost spooky like that, lit up with a deep blue that still let them see all the way to the horizon.

They got home and Jim sucked Bruce off in the shower, Bruce's hands scrambling on the wall as he pushed his head back against the tile. Bruce's breath hitched and he reached out, finding Jim's hand, and then he came silently, breathing hard, words dying before they could reach his lips.

Later, Bruce was face-down on the bed, a pillow beneath his hips and one under his head, and Jim's lips were whispering against the skin of his shoulder as he thrust into him. Jim's lips traveled up to his ear, and he used his nose to push wet hair away so that he could breathe, “I missed you,” feather-light, his hips giving a twist that made Bruce's fists knot in his pillow.

“Goddamn,” Bruce groaned, turning his face into the kisses being placed on his jawline. “I love you, Jim.” And it didn't matter that Jim didn't say it back for the second time because Bruce could feel Jim smiling into his skin.

 

Bruce was asleep when the phone rang – a land line, not Jim's cell phone. Jim picked up the cordless receiver and walked to the window in his boxers, his figure silhouetted by the mountains outside and the moon beyond. The only words he spoke might have been “alright” and “yes, sir,” and eventually he hung up the phone and stood there for a moment, just looking out across the blue-tinged expanse of Mojave desert that surrounded them.

“Iron Patriot's been deployed,” Jim said. Bruce blinked a bit, keeping his spot in the bed. “They think they've got a lead on the Mandarin's base of operations.” Bruce nodded but Jim didn't see it. “I gotta get ready to head out, my ride's gonna be here in half an hour.”

It was almost four in the morning but Bruce threw together a quick breakfast while Jim packed a tiny bag, and he sat it at the front door before sitting to eat eggs and sausage.

“You can't tell me where you're going,” Bruce said, and Jim shook his head and continued to chew. “You can't tell me...” ( _when I'll see you again._ ) “How long you'll be gone.” Jim shook his head again. Bruce looked down at his eggs and thought of eating some but now his appetite was gone. His stomach felt weird, like it ached to tremble or clench but couldn't find the will to do so. He could see his hands on the tabletop, just laying there, maybe twitching a bit, and he put them in his lap quickly. He felt Jim near him, at his ear and whispering something, scented like maple syrup and sage.

The War Machine – Iron Patriot – armor had better reinforcements than any Iron Man suit to date. It was heavier, stronger, thicker, and could stand battle after battle before having to go in for an overhaul. None of Tony's suits had ever lasted more than two fights in a row. Jim would only be safer if he was in a tank.

“Hey,” Jim said, and he had Bruce by the chin, turning them face to face. “I'm coming back, okay?” Bruce heard footsteps outside, and then a knock on the door. Jim hung his head for a moment before taking Bruce's hands and leading him to the door, where he just stood there looking bewildered while Jim picked up his bag. This was why Bruce hadn't dated anyone since Betty. Too many variables. Too many opportunities for people to get hurt.

“Shut up, Bruce,” Jim said, and it snapped him out of his head and drew his eyes to Jim, who was smiling that tortuous smile and looking as handsome as he did the first day they met. “I know you didn't say anything.” Jim tapped a finger on the side of Bruce's head. “I know what you're thinking, and shut it up.” They kissed then with as much passion and abandon as Bruce could manage, his nails scraping the back of Jim's neck and his tongue lapping up the very taste of him. They pulled apart slightly and looked at each other for a moment, Jim's eyes traveling up and down Bruce before he shook his head, cursing at himself.

“I see why all the married guys get so bummed when it's time to ship out,” Jim said, and Bruce pulled him close, pressed their foreheads together and breathed deep. Jim's sigh was stressed, pained in a way, but before Bruce could ask, Jim said softly, “I love you. And I'm really sorry I didn't say it sooner.” Jim's kiss felt like an apology and Bruce wanted to protest, but he didn't think that would be appropriate right now.

“I love you, Jim,” he said instead. “Please be as safe as you can.”

They heard the knock again and both of them groaned. “Okay, alright,” Jim mumbled, and finally they leaned apart. “Stay out of it, okay? Don't come looking for me. None of you.”

“Promise me you'll stay safe.”

Jim tried to keep his expression hard, but his eyes softened and the corner of his mouth hitched up into the tiniest of grins. “ _Don't_ come looking for me.”

 

*

 

Bruce hated New York in the wintertime. No one wanted to go anywhere or do anything. There was no fun to be had outside. Everyone sat around on the communal floor in pajamas and blankets, reading or playing games or just generally being bored. Sometimes they'd make trips to Brooklyn for bowling or rummy with Steve, and sometimes Steve would spend days sleeping over and hanging out, pretending he never moved away to avoid Tony. Day after day shut in the tower meant that eventually Tony would become the subject of conversation, and it turned out that everyone was worried, even Steve – everyone knew Tony had built over thirty new sets of armor, but he also wasn't sleeping and was drinking a lot, and this shit with the Mandarin _couldn't_ be helping with the PTSD or sleep anxiety. Steve's hasty move-out came up eventually as well, and though Steve tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal, Bruce knew the truth. Steve was doing well – had even managed to have a boyfriend for a couple of weeks – but the pain was still there, it had to be. Bruce thought about how things never fall into place, how things never just _work_ , and then he thought of Jim and how easy it had been to learn the curve of his smile, how perfect his arms felt around him and how easily they fell asleep in the same bed. He thought about the first time he saw Iron Patriot, all alone in an aircraft hangar with Jim holding his hand and pointing out all of the newest and most awesome modifications to the armor.

He'd gotten two emails from Jim so far. Bruce's responses always bounced back, but Jim was thinking about him, and that was enough. The messages weren't very detailed and he never told where he was or what he was doing. He'd only mention something funny or interesting he saw, how tired he was, how much he missed Bruce and southern California.

Bruce went to the park sometimes alone, but whether he was at Central or Tompkins or Washington Square, he could hear cars and smell their exhaust, and the tree canopies were still too thick in the winter to let any light touch the ground. No natural bodies of water. He fumed alone and looked through the photos on his phone, pictures of him and Jim eating pizza together months ago.

 

One day after a particularly displeasing walk in the park, he came back to the Tower to find the team gathered around the television and there was Tony, and he was giving out his fucking home address on the news. Turns out there had been a bombing at a tourist trap in LA and Happy Hogan was in a coma because of it. Clint and Natasha both had out their phones, trying their best to gather more information, and Bruce took his out as well, just holding it, letting the fact that he could be reached comfort him. ( _You have his number but you know he can't pick up._ ) He went back to his photos then ( _desert, sky, ocean, Jim_ ) ignoring the murmur around him until a loud explosion echoed from the television, and he looked up to see Tony's Malibu mansion crumbling into the ocean as _fucking missiles_ were fired into it from helicopters.

Bruce got up and walked away. Got a bottle and his stash box and went to the roof. At this juncture it was fucking imperative to public safety that he calm himself down. He brought his phone with him and he rolled a joint, not giving a shit when the wind would kick up and blow some of it away. Eventually he finished his task and lit it, bleeding it down to a roach in just one drag. He rolled another one and looked at his phone again, and when he was lighting the second one Steve walked out, his face a ghostly white as he took a seat silently. Bruce handed him the joint without a word and Steve took it, hands shaking.

 

*

 

Bruce couldn't get a hold of Pepper. No one could. They all assumed she was in hiding, and Bruce hoped they were right. He thought of flying out to Malibu but he went so often that SHIELD would probably expect him to and intercept him at the airport, so they sent Clint instead. They'd just seen him off in an unmarked jet when Bruce walked into the kitchen and picked up his tablet to read the news while his coffee brewed...and he dropped it. He watched it fall and watched a spiderweb of a crack blossom across the screen, almost obscuring the headline he'd read.

“Bruce.” He looked up and saw Steve in front of him, and then he looked around to Natasha and Thor, and then he shook his head for some reason. He tried to blink but he couldn't. Didn't have the fucking strength. Bruce hadn't felt this way in a long time, the pit of despair in his gut opening up so wide that it threatened to swallow everything. He could feel his face getting hot and Steve had both hands on his shoulders now, leading him out of the kitchen and to a couch. Steve had picked up his tablet and placed it on the coffee table, and Bruce could still read the headline from there. _Rhodes & Patriot – MISSING IN MIDEAST (more on pg. 2)_

Natasha and Thor were still staring at him, clearly puzzled, but Steve knew. Steve pressed a big hand between Bruce's shoulderblades and rubbed comfort there, said he could call in a favor or two and see what he could find out, told him that Rhodey would be okay, he'd be back soon and he'd help them find Tony, too.

 

*

 

Bruce didn't sleep for three days. Not until he got a voicemail at midnight one night – and it went straight to voicemail, too, phone didn't ring or anything. He was lying on his bed fully dressed when he saw his phone light up, and he picked it up to see that the call came from a private number. He dialed his voicemail with shaky hands and let the message play.

“ _Gotta make this quick, Bruce. I'm alive and I miss you. I'll be fine but you pray for Tony, okay? I'll take you for a drive when I get back.”_

Bruce listened to the message again, then again, and then he shocked himself by sobbing into his palms and thanking God out loud. In the end he decided not to think too much about that. Instead he got up and went to his laptop, loaded up Google Earth and found a new stretch of the PCH that he wanted to see. Ventura to Santa Barbara. He had never been to either of those places before.

 

*

 

They were all in a conference room on the Helicarrier and Tony was explaining himself to the group while Jim backed him up. Tony mentioned torture and Jim lifted his shirt, showing a large and nasty burn that was almost healed. Bruce looked away and swallowed hard. Jim had been back in the states for three weeks and they still had yet to touch each other. They'd spoken, yes, several times, but Jim had no free time since he got back and Bruce had been busy helping with a treatment plan for Pepper. For three weeks they'd talked on the phone like a pair of teenagers, Jim committing treason by sharing every detail of his ordeal, his shock at finding the Mandarin – sorry, Trevor – and rescuing the President. Sometimes their conversations got dirty, but mostly they didn't. Bruce told Jim about that stretch of the PCH that he wanted to ride, over thirty new miles of coastline to see.

Tony finished and everyone dispersed, but Bruce didn't budge from his seat. Jim went to the back corner and beckoned to Bruce, who got up and stood face to face with him while everyone else filed out.

“I can't stand this,” Bruce said. “I haven't touched you in almost two months.” Something flashed across Jim's face and he glanced over to Tony, who was gathering his stuff up and finally – _finally_ – leaving the room. He reached out then and took Bruce's hand, threading their fingers together, and Bruce felt everything unravel inside of him, every notion of what he thought he'd say and do when he saw Jim, the bitch session he was going to subject him to – all of it flew out of the window and he let out a pained sigh, his eyes glued on their hands together, almost unbelieving that they were actually touching.

“Jesus Christ, Jim,” Bruce whispered, his voice breaking as he fell forward into Jim's arms, wrapping his arms around his neck before pulling back again and taking Jim's face in his hands, just staring, just looking at him. And then they kissed, soft and long, and then Bruce pecked him one last time before holding him again, loving his hug like the first time.

“Oh god,” Bruce said, unable to be more eloquent with his head to Jim's shoulder, his voice in pieces now and his face burning hot.

“I told you I was coming back,” Jim whispered in his ear, rocking him gently in his embrace. “I wouldn't leave you, okay?”

“Don't,” Bruce said into Jim's neck, and he didn't fight the tightness in his throat or the hot tears that followed. “Fucking _hell_ , Jim, I thought they killed you. I thought that was it for you, for us.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jim asked, his voice amused. “You and I just got started.”

Bruce laughed into Jim's shoulder and pulled him closer, if at all possible.

 

*

 

Ventura was beautiful, and so was Santa Barbara. Miles of sky stretched above them as Bruce let the wind slide between his fingertips. Jim was grinning in the driver's seat – probably laughing at him, Bruce thought, but also probably not. Iron Patriot (and the paint job) turned out to better in theory than in practice, and now the armor was once again getting overhauled while Jim enjoyed an extended leave with Bruce. They planned to meet Jim's mother and Bruce's niece, visit Philadelphia and Virginia and ride the Pacific Coast Highway all the way to San Francisco. Right now they were heading out of Santa Barbara, north and beyond, just driving to see where they would end up. It was 85 degrees outside and it was January, and the wind obscured the sounds of Wax and Kyuss coming from the radio. They were in Tony's Fisker, the polished metal exterior shining like Jim's armor in the gentle winter sun. The wind was a bit too cool but they still had the top down. Bruce insisted on it.

 

Bruce loved southern California.


End file.
